


Lost and Found

by cordeliadelayne



Series: Reconnection [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Light Angst, M/M, Season/Series 01, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson had plenty of time to find Clint, but as usual it's Clint who finds Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Set after episode 122, spoilers for all of season 1.

  
The first time it happened, with his fingers covered in chalk dust, brain fuzzy from waking up from whatever zone it went to when the symbols called to him, it was an itch in between his shoulder blades, the tell-tale sign that he was in a sniper's sights.

But then Trip was asking if the package had been secured and Coulson was answering whilst scuffing out the chalk pattern on the ground, refusing to turn around because he had more than enough problems to be dealing with as it was, he didn't need to create more.

The second time it happened was on top of a building in the middle of Chicago and Coulson was trying to talk down a young kid with sparks shooting out of his fingers who was convinced he was responsible for the death of his father. There were too many variables for Coulson to feel completely comfortable, but May and Trip were positioned nearby, Skye and Simmons on the ground waiting for an update, and he had no time to wonder if the figure moving in the corner of his eye was friend or foe.

The third time it happened he had to admit that he'd been lying to himself. Of course he'd known that Hawkeye was stalking him, and to have even contemplated anything else had been an indulgence too far.

Of course, the fact that on this third time Clint was waiting for him as he and Skye returned to Lola, was besides the point.

“Skye, why don't you grab us some coffee?” Coulson suggested, handing over a couple of bills.

“Coulson?” she asked, worried tone low enough that anyone other than Clint wouldn’t hear it. He tried to smile reassuringly, but her frown deepened in response.

“Don't worry,” Clint said, “I just want a conversation.”

Clint moved a little closer, into the light, and if his face hadn't clued Skye into his identity, the bow gripped tightly in his hand certainly did.

Her mouth made a perfect “O” and then she hurried off, patting Coulson's arm as she left.

Coulson relaxed marginally. “I suppose I should have prepared a speech for this moment.”

“I suppose you should.”

“Barton...” Coulson sighed and took a step forward. “ _Clint._ ”

“Don't.”

Coulson didn't move after that, just waited. There were so many things he had to say, so many excuses for not contacting the Avengers before now that he could no longer discern between the real reasons for his reticence and the feeble lies.

“One question. That's all I want answering, and then I'll go.”

Automatically Coulson wanted to tell him he didn't have to go, to stay, to hear him out, but he stopped himself just in time.

“Okay.”

“Did you fake your death?”

Coulson blinked. Of all the questions he'd imagined, that hadn't been the one he'd thought Clint would have gone for first. Though under the circumstances he had to agree it was a pretty good place to start.

“No.”

Clint closed his eyes and Coulson couldn't decide what expression they were hiding, anger or sadness or even relief. Either way, when they opened again Clint was no longer looking in Coulson's direction, was in fact already moving away, up one fire escape and across another, disappearing into the city before Coulson could even form the words to stop him.

* * * * *

It was a week later, okay eight days later exactly, not that Coulson was paying any particular attention of course, when Coulson was woken from a fitful sleep by the perimeter alert blaring above his head.

“Talk to me,” Coulson said into his earpiece, fully awake in the blink of an eye.

“Single life-sign,” Trip said. “Pulling up a visual...”

“It's Barton,” May said, sounding completely unsurprised.

“Hawkeye?” Coulson heard Trip ask, but he filtered that out for the moment.

“Let him in,” Coulson said, and let May deal with the others, heading towards the main door instead.

“I should probably ask how you found us,” Coulson said as the door opened.

“I had a little help from a one-eyed bastard,” Clint replied.

That gave Coulson pause. “You've seen Fury?”

“Wanted some answers,” he replied with a shrug.

“And you didn't think I'd give them to you?” Coulson asked. The hurt must have bled into his voice because Clint's expression noticeably softened.

“I wanted to make sure you were, well, you.”

“Are you planning on inviting him in, or just making puppy eyes at him?” May asked.

“May? That you?”

“Barton.” May nodded at him, with a hint of a smile. “Coffee?”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked with an easy grin. It didn't fool Coulson for a minute, but he felt too wrong-footed to do anything other than follow May and Clint down to the kitchen.

It took less than five minutes for the rest of the team, sans Fitz, to make an appearance, huddling together in the doorway, each gently moving the others out of the way so they could get a better look.

“Koenig wants to know if he needs to get out a lanyard,” Skye said.

Coulson looked towards Clint, who gave nothing back.

“Tell him yes, but we can skip the induction.”

“Okay,” Skye replied, “but when he complains I'm sending him straight to you.”

“I would expect nothing else.” He pointedly looked at Skye when she didn’t move away. He sighed then, and gave in to the inevitable. “Skye, Simmons, Trip, this is Agent Barton.”

“Hawkeye?” Simmons said, a little breathlessly.

“The one and only,” Clint replied. “Mind giving me and the boss some alone time?”

May gave Coulson a long look before herding the others out of the room. They all had questions, Skye especially, and none of them were keeping their voices down.

“Interesting group,” Clint said.

Coulson sat down on a chair opposite Clint and said nothing as the other man drank his coffee.

“What did Fury tell you?” Coulson asked, when it became clear that Clint wasn't going to say anything more.

“Everything.”

“Everything?” Coulson asked, disbelief plain on his face. Fury never told anyone everything. Fury probably didn’t even tell _Fury_ everything.

“Project TAHITI. The alien. The operation. The messing about with your brain. Your team.” He paused. “Ward and Garrett being HYDRA. Your promotion. Quite a list. Quite a busy few years you've been having.”

“Too busy to make a phone call you mean?” Coulson asked, trying to provoke a reaction. He needed a moment to get himself back on an even keel.

Since their last meeting Coulson had practised in his head all the conversations he and Clint could possibly have. He'd planned out scenarios as if planning for a mission – how things could go right, how badly they could go wrong. Having Clint mostly on the same page hadn't really factored in.

“Why did you come here?” Coulson asked, realising it was the worst thing to say entirely when Clint's body tensed up.

“Just passing through,” he said. He put his mug down and made as if to get up.

“Wait,” Coulson said. He grabbed at Clint's arm before he could talk himself out of it. “What I meant to say is...I'm glad you found me.” He slowly let Clint's arm go. “I'm sorry I didn't find you.”

“Jesus, Phil,” Clint said, slumping back into his chair. “What the hell?”

Coulson shrugged. He didn't have any answers and these days he had no appetite for pretending that he did. Clint looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Come on,” Coulson said, standing up. “I'll give you the tour.”

* * * * *

Coulson was neither blind, nor an idiot. He knew how attractive Clint was, and that their relationship had strayed well past just friends some time ago without either of them making a move to do anything about it. Audrey was only one of many complications.

He also knew that in the morning, two days into Clint's visit, when Skye teasingly asked whether the sexual tension between them had always been there, he hadn't managed to shut down his reaction fast enough.

“What happened?” Skye asked.

“I died,” Coulson said. He followed it up with a grimace and a shake of his head. No, that hadn't been what had happened. He'd been a coward.

“He doesn't seem that scary to me,” Skye said, with her usual unnerving ability to follow what Coulson didn't say probably better than what he did.

“It's complicated. God, did I just say that?”

Skye smiled, not unsympathetically. “You know us, the team, we don’t care if you two...”

Coulson nodded, as much to stop her finishing that sentence as because he did know. He had no doubt that any problems with him pursuing Clint would only come from himself.

Skye grabbed the file from Coulson's desk she'd originally come in for and started to leave.

“What happened to you not letting second chances go to waste?” she asked as she left.

For the moment, he had no answer.

* * * * *

“I want to show you something,” Coulson said, on the fourth day into Clint's visit. Clint had been practising on the firing range and though he hadn't made any indication that he even knew Coulson had been watching for the last ten minutes, Coulson was sure Clint was showing off even more than usual.

Clint finished up and the grin on his face faded as he caught Coulson's serious expression.

“Something bad?”

Coulson nodded, worried what his voice would sound like if he let himself talk. Instead he led Clint down to one of the lower levels in a strained silence that his fumbling with the access card to the door did nothing to dispel.

He motioned for Clint to enter the room first, and then locked the door behind them. Clint didn't so much as flinch, and Coulson let himself relax a little. Then he turned on the light.

The symbols, which Simmons and Skye seemed convinced were a map of some sort, now took up three of the four walls and part of the floor. There was nothing else in the room, save for a mattress in one corner. Clint cast Coulson a curious look before moving to the far corner so he could take them all in. Next, when Coulson still didn't offer up an explanation, he moved closer to one of the walls and ran his fingers against the symbols, noting no doubt how deeply into the wall they had been etched.

“They're beautiful,” Clint said, with a reverence that took Coulson by surprise. “Where did they come from?”

“I drew them,” Coulson said, around a sudden lump in his throat. “Mostly in my sleep”.

There was a very long pause before Clint took a step back and nodded.

“Do you know what it reminds me of? The room. You, I guess, too?”

Coulson shook his head, though Clint hadn't turned to look at him.

“That moment, that first moment, when Loki’s staff – whatever it did, before it started stripping me away it was - “ Clint waved his hands, struggling for the right words. “It was numbing, but calming at the same moment. Alien, but somehow not. It wasn't a bad feeling. Just for a moment.”

Coulson stepped closer to Clint, a comforting hand on the archers back.

They moved at the same moment, kissing with a ferocity Coulson at least hadn't felt in years. He moaned into Clint's mouth as deft fingers began to pull and tug at his shirt.

Coulson moved his mouth to nibble at Clint's neck. Clint growled in response and efficiently manoeuvred them to the mattress on the floor.

“I was meaning to ask...” Clint panted. He motioned towards the mattress, even as he pulled Coulson closer.

“Contingency plan,” Coulson explained. He yanked off his own jacket and then helped Clint with his t-shirt. “In case - “ _In case I lose my mind and need to stay down here,_ he thought, but didn't say. Clint caught on though, and gently cupped Coulson's head in his hands.

“You're not going to need it,” he said, with such a solid conviction that Coulson could only nod and grab desperately at Clint's belt.

They weren't even fully naked by the time their bodies lined up, but neither of them cared, not when Clint's spit slick hands were moving along Coulson's erection and Coulson's were exploring as much of Clint as he could reach, fingers and mouth teasing, sucking, marking until Coulson felt his mind go blank with pleasure.

He didn't know how long he lay next to Clint, breathing hard, but when his eyes came back into focus he saw a Clint who looked more relaxed than Coulson had ever seen him and with a wicked grin he slid down Clint's body and gave him a blow job that had Clint coming with a stuttered cry that seemed to echo and bounce off the walls. It had been a while since Coulson had done that, and there was no way he could keep the smug grin off his face, as Clint pulled him up and into a heated kiss.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed as he let Coulson go.

“Definitely later,” Coulson smirked.

Clint batted playfully at his arm. “Ass.”

Coulson responded to that by rubbing slow patterns on Clint's hips. It didn’t have quite the feeling of urgency as when he needed to write the symbols, but it did make him resist, just for a moment, when Clint twisted his hips away and pulled Coulson's hands onto his chest.

“We'll fix this.”

“ _Me,_ you mean.”

Clint drew him into a gentle kiss. “I'm more concerned right now with how we get out of here without looking like we fucked each other senseless.”

Coulson huffed a small laugh. “That ship's sailed, I'm afraid.” He started to sit up and Clint unwillingly followed. “There's a camera hidden in the ceiling. It started recording the minute the door was opened.”

“Phil Coulson, I never figured you for having an exhibitionist streak.”

Coulson felt himself blushing under Clint's assessing gaze. “No one is necessarily watching. It's more for reviewing than anything. I can delete it.”

“Make sure you give me a copy before you do,” Clint said.

He pulled Coulson upright and settled his hand over the scar on Coulson's chest. Coulson didn’t reply, just let his head fall forward so their foreheads touched.

* * * * *

The seventh day of Clint's visit was his last. Coulson and his team had work to do, and while Clint would have been a help, his expertise would have been wasted on the kind of missions they were running right now. Not to mention the logistics involved with rebuilding SHIELD whilst still being branded terrorists.

Besides, Clint wanted to check in with Romanoff, though he knew better than most that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Really he just wanted to tell her about him and Coulson, and Coulson found he didn't mind.

“You'll make sure they know I did want to tell them myself?” Coulson asked. He watched from his bed as Clint pulled on his pants.

Clint swallowed the flippant remark he was about to make and nodded instead. “Of course. Though Nat won't need telling.” He turned back to getting dressed and watched Coulson through the reflection in the mirror opposite. “Are you really going to tell Stark yourself?”

“I feel like I should.”

Clint snorted at the look of distaste on Coulson's face. He didn't know who Coulson thought he was kidding, anyone who'd seen him and Stark interact could see they were practically friends.

“Just make sure JARVIS is on side and you'll be fine. Though I make no predictions for how Pepper's going to react.”

“I'm hoping Maria will deal with Pepper first,” Coulson admitted.

When Clint was finished he sat down on the bed and pulled Coulson into a kiss full of promise.

“Stay in touch?” Coulson asked. “And keep safe?”

“You too. If I can help...”

“I know.”

They'd done some talking over the past few days but not too much, and not enough to really cover how they felt or where they might be going. They'd both been given second chances but they knew as well as any that the sand could still shift underneath their feet at any moment. Now wasn't the time to get complacent, or do anything but take each day as it came.

Clint left in the early hours of the morning, with only Coulson to see him go. It seemed fitting somehow, as if they for that moment were the only two people in the world. The only two that mattered.

It would never be true, but Coulson was happy to let the lie linger, just for a little while. Lying to himself was a drug he was slowly weaning himself off but sometimes a relapse was allowed and if any time was ripe for a little indulgence, a little belief that everything was going to be okay, then that time was definitely now.


End file.
